The Language of the Flowers
by writer writing
Summary: An argument comically escalates between Sister Ruth and Kid Cole as he miscommunicates using flowers.


Michaela thanked Horace for her mail. The package contained fresh medical supplies she'd ordered for the clinic, and the letter was from Sister Ruth.

Sister Ruth and Kid Cole were living out in St. Louis. They exchanged letters regularly though she wished the older couple were living in Colorado Springs. It was hard for Michaela to believe that she had ever once been at odds with the woman who was now so dear to her.

She went straight to the clinic to drop off the supplies and open the letter. Not only was she interested in hearing what was happening in her friends' life but her letters were as entertaining and lively as the faith healer herself, making them a delight to read.

 _Dear Dr. Mike,_

 _I'm settling into married life. Kid and I both are. Who says you can't teach old dogs new tricks? It hasn't always been easy though. You should have been here to witness the sorriest fight you ever did see._

She proceeded to describe it in such sparkling detail that Michaela almost felt like she was there with the newlyweds.

"Would it kill you to put something back just once?" Sister Ruth asked.

Kid looked up from the newspaper he'd been perusing for work. Unfortunately, there wasn't much call for gunfighters. And Sister Ruth couldn't do her revival work without moving from place to place. He wasn't sure they were cut out for living in one place though they'd both agreed to give it a try. "What?"

She held up his shoes, the offending articles. "These. You got them out in the middle of the floor. Somebody's libel to trip over them and break their neck. Why can't you take them off beside the door like a decent human being?"

"I'm pretty certain no one's ever broken their neck tripping over shoes. An arm maybe."

In hindsight, he probably should have apologized and promised not to do it again instead of speculating on the extent of potential injuries because it started her on a rant.

"It ain't just the shoes," she said, dropping them against the wall with a loud thunk. "You have your clothes all over the floor. And the mess you make eating at the table is unbelievable then you just up and leave your dishes; I've seen pigs with less untidy eating habits."

"I'm sorry I'm not mortal enemies with clutter. You know a little dirt never hurt anybody. In fact, God must be quite fond of it if He made us from it."

"Just because we're made from the earth doesn't mean we have to live in its filth." She was mad now because she stopped talking and picked up the rag and started dusting. Whenever she got really mad, she took to cleaning with a vengeance. If she couldn't control people, at least she could control the cleanliness of the house and work out her anger in the process.

But she lost it when she found one of his socks draped over the back of a chair and only the one. She grabbed it in a way that made Kid cringe. "Why ain't you at least keeping your socks together? What in heaven's name are you going to do with just one sock? Make a puppet out of it?"

He was tired of her acting like she was so high and mighty. She came with annoying habits, too, like rearranging his things so he couldn't find them. "That's my business. And speaking of my business, where'd you put that little box of bullets that was setting on the table? Those had my blanks in it, since I got asked to fire for the races Saturday. The last thing we need is them getting mixed up with the real bullets."

"I didn't touch your bullets," she said.

"Right. You're constantly meddling with stuff."

"If you put your things up like you're supposed to, we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

There was just no arguing with the woman. She was always right or thought she was. She took bossiness to a whole new level. "I need a drink," he said, standing up.

"Well, why don't you just go to the saloon then. I'm sure there'll be a pretty girl there to keep you company, who won't care if you pick your socks up or not, and you can tell her what a terrible person I am."

"Maybe I will."

"Good. Go!"

He had a feeling if he hadn't chosen to walk out, she would have chased him out with a broom. That woman had a temper. She should have been born a full-out redhead instead of a dark auburn.

But he hadn't even made it halfway down the street before he started feeling bad arguing over something so stupid. He could have done a little picking up to appease her. He stuck his hands in his pockets only to find the blanks in his pocket. Now he felt lower than a snake.

Perhaps he ought to get her flowers to apologize. He remembered seeing a book she owned, "Flora's Dictionary", that told about what the flowers meant. There was a whole language people used with bouquets when they wanted to be coy and were courting.

He snuck in through the bedroom window and found a metal pen, a black bottle of ink, and paper along with the book on her nightstand. He didn't know what the flower shop had, so he figured he better write down a few options.

The book was chocked full of scientific facts and poems. It was difficult to sludge through the tome for what he wanted, but he finally found the index in the back. He heard the clattering from her cleaning spree. It would probably be no time at all before she reached her way back here. He had to work fast.

Hyacinth, carnation, lily. The first said I am sorry; please forgive me. The second said my heart aches for you; admiration. The third said you've made my life complete.

He made note of the flowers and their meanings right before he heard her footsteps. He quickly snapped the book closed and scrambled back out.

An elderly man ran the flower shop. He looked a bit like a scarecrow due to lankiness and oversized clothing. "Can I help you, son?" He had a friendly demeanor that set a person at ease right away.

Kid looked around at the assortment of colorful blooms. They all looked like flowers to him. He wouldn't know one from the other. "Which one is supposed to say I'm sorry?"

"No idea. I ain't fluent with all that mumbo jumbo. I just grow flowers, but tell me which kind you want, and I'll get it."

He unfolded the piece of paper. "A hyacinth. It's supposed to say I'm sorry."

"Well, women do enjoy getting flowers," he said as he moved to the shelf with the hyacinths.

"That's what I'm hoping," he said, digging into his pocket for the money.

"Any particular color?"

Ruth was fond of bright colors. "Yellow."

"How many?" he asked, pulling a pair of clippers out of his apron.

"Just one."

Yellow hyacinth in hand, he returned home. He knocked on the door for effect because she probably hadn't bolted it, in case he returned.

She opened the door right away, which was a good sign. She didn't look half so mad, but the house looked a lot cleaner. She even looked like she wanted to apologize herself.

He held out the single flower.

"What's this?"

"A hyacinth. I used that book of yours to give a message to you."

"So you actually know what it means, and you're giving it to me?"

"Yes," he said, feeling mighty pleased with himself.

He deflated a little when she didn't take it. Then she slammed the door in his face.

"And I am not jealous of them gals at the saloon!" she yelled through one of the windows. "The way I feel right now they can have you!"

"I didn't even go the saloon!" he yelled back. He dropped the flower and ground it under his foot into the grass. How did a flower say he went to the saloon? Women. Who could understand them?

He realized then he must have read the index wrong on that one, so he went back to the flower shop to try again.

The man's furry, gray eyebrows raised in question. "Didn't go as planned?"

"No," he answered. He hoped the brevity of it made the man realize he didn't want to talk about it. "Get me some carnations. A dozen of them."

"What are they supposed to mean?" the shop keeper asked as he clipped.

"That I admire her and my heart aches for her."

"That sounds like a good choice. She'd have to be a cold-hearted woman to reject this gesture. Yellow again?"

"Please."

A woman entering the shop gave him an odd look as he left. He supposed he presented a funny picture dressed head to toe in black, a gun belt around his waist, grim expression, and a bouquet of sunny, yellow flowers.

She didn't come to the door as quick this time, but at least she opened it. "Let me guess you looked up the message for these, too?"

"Yes, I did. These express my real feelings. Forget the last one."

She snatched these from him not as tenderly or happily as he might have expected. "Well, you know something? I'm feeling pretty disappointed in you myself, and I reject your flowers!" She dropped them on the floor beneath her and jumped up and down on them like she was dancing a jig and then she kicked them back out to the stoop, slamming the door.

He thought he heard the bolt click this time.

Kid dreaded returning to the flower shop, but he saw no way out of it. He had to make amends.

"You must have gotten into one heck of a fight," the shop keeper said at his arrival.

"You've no idea, Can I have some lilies this time?" Besides their good message, they also happened to be her favorite flowers. He probably should have started with them. She'd carried white ones at their wedding. Unfortunately, they didn't have white ones.

He'd gotten the message loud and clear though. Yellow flowers were bad despite their cheerful appearance. Avoid yellow. "I'll take the orange."

"How many?"

"Every last one you have. It's supposed to tell her that my life isn't complete without her, and it wouldn't be either."

He whistled as he did the math. "I'm sorry for your argument, but it's making for a very profitable day for me. I really hope it works for you this time."

"Me and you both," he said, slapping a bill on the table, not needing to be told the price this time after so many trips.

Equipped this time with an armful of flowers, he knocked. He had to knock a second time. And a third. "Sister Ruth? Ruth? Honey? Please, don't leave me standing out here all day."

He rolled his eyes when he saw the woman next door, coming out to not so subtly hang her laundry. She plainly wanted to witness the spectacle by the way she turned her head in their direction and the fact the laundry looked dry.

Ruth opened the door slowly and cautiously.

"Now do you know the depths of my feeling for you?" he asked.

Tears collected in her eyes. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"I'm not doing anything to you," he said, past the point of exasperation. "I'm trying to tell you I love you."

She wiped her eyes, looking the tiniest bit hopeful. "Then why'd you get me all these flowers that say you hate me?"

"That's not what I was trying to say." He fished out the paper he'd written on that had the flower names and the meanings and handed it over.

Sister Ruth laughed as she looked. "You got the right flowers but the wrong colors."

"So colors do matter?" he asked though he'd already reached that conclusion.

"It can be the difference between a positive or negative message." She carefully took the flowers from him as if she treasured them.

"You don't have to take them," he said.

She leaned forward and planted a deep and long kiss on his lips for his troubles, taking care not to crush the flowers in the process. He couldn't help grinning in the middle of it at the slight but sharp sound of the door closing next door.

Ruth arranged the lilies in one of the empty vases inside. "They are lovely. It's the most beautiful way to say I hate you that I can think of." She looked back at him, eyes twinkling.

He snorted. "I know one thing. I'm never letting flowers do the talking for me ever again."

Michaela had a good chuckle as she drew to the close of the letter. They made a darling and amusing couple.

 _Kid asked me to send his love. God bless you and yours._

 _Your Loving Sister in Christ,  
_ _Sister Ruth_

Setting the letter down, a glance out the window revealed Sully walking towards the clinic. A warm feeling bubbled up at the sight of the handsome mountain man she hoped to marry someday.

She went outside to meet him and discovered he had picked her a rich array of wildflowers. There were gold, purple, and red blooms sending out a sweet, heady scent.

She inhaled the fragrance and felt the velvety petals between her fingers after he handed it to her. "What's the occasion?"

"Does there have to be one? They simply mean I love you."

"I love you, too," she said with a smile. "And that's a good enough reason for me." It was the best message of all.

The End


End file.
